


Over Easy

by KendylGirl



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: There are many ways to crack an egg, and a passionate cook knows how to do it properly.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 19
Kudos: 133





	Over Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onlyastoryteller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyastoryteller/gifts).



> This is a small gift to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the incomparable onlyastoryteller, who is quite the cook; she once noted the questionable technique of a certain "professional baker" from which this idea was born.

“What are you doing?”

He freezes, arm in the air, bent at the elbow. His head flicks right, and I see him peer at me over his shoulder with one bright eye in the center of a small triangle formed by a window in his nest of curls and his white t-shirt. _My_ white t-shirt. It hangs down to his mid-thigh.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

I slide up behind him and rest my hands on his hips, lean down to murmur in his ear. “Well, from what I can see, you’re about to violate the chef’s code of ethics.”

He pushes into my touch despite his arch tone. “Huh, and stupid me had thought it was called _making_ _breakfast_.”

I extend my arm slowly down the length of his and wrap my fingers around what he holds over the bowl on the counter. “No, Timmy, if you crack this egg on the edge of the bowl, you’ll end up calling it _fishing_.” I cluck my tongue at him gently and unwind the egg from his fingers. “I know your mama taught you better than that.”

“Whaaaattt do you meannnnn?” he drawls, flopping his head back and rolling it on my shoulder, and I know he’s doing it on purpose because I can’t resist him like this, when he’s soft and silly and teasing, when he’s only half awake and could fall asleep again easily, if only I would hold him up, wrap my arms around him and let his head rest against my neck.

“I mean,” and I put the eggs down on a towel, “that no one breaks an egg on the bowl unless he wants to spend the next twenty minutes digging out bits of shell from his mixture. That’s what _amateurs_ do.”

“Ohh, okay, Chef.” His voice is the perfect combination of flippant disdain and salacious heat. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done.”

So I circle in even closer, press him against the counter to force his hips back against me. “Take care of it here.” I scoop up the egg and snap it against the granite. “Then you get out of it everything you want, and nothing more.” I raise it in one hand and open it over the bowl with a crick of my fingers. The contents plop down at the same moment I kiss his cheek and tighten my other arm around his waist.

“You’re good at that, you know.”

I circle my nose in his hair. “Well, I cook a lot. It’s just experience,” I remark lightly, nibble at his shoulder.

“You’re experienced, all right.”

“Want me to talk about my whisking technique now?"

I feel him press back against me with a soft sigh. “Not particularly.”

“Not hungry anymore?” I whisper into his ear.

“Plenty hungry,” he husks. “Just don’t want eggs.”

“Then why did you—“

He flips around and swallows my words, ripping at the ends of my hair to bring me closer, closer. I pull him up, tilt my head down, taste him on my tongue, all my air from the depths of his lungs, from the soles of his feet. Somehow, it’s never close enough.

I ease my head back a little. Not too much, not enough to focus my eyes, but I don’t care because I’d rather stay where my tongue will flick his lips while I talk. “Wait…oh, Timmy, were you making breakfast for _me_?”

He blushes and bends his neck, bumps me in the chest with his forehead. _God, I love him_.

“Trying to,” is the muffled response. “Trying to get some cooking experience under my belt.”

“Oh, I see. And…Timmy?” He hums under my chin, his lips vibrating my skin. “Do you have anything under this shirt?”

I feel him smile, know it is wicked, know he is happy. “Just your hand.”

“Hey, Timmy?”

“Hmmm?” He sucks lazily on my throat.

“Ever made toad-in-a-hole?”

He giggles, “No.”

“Well, if you come back to bed, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Don’t we need the eggs?”

“Eventually."

He gnaws on my jaw bone. “Is it complicated?”

“Nah. I’m pretty sure you’re a natural.”

“Oh, so like, you’ll be the _over_ and I’ll be your _easy_?”

I kiss his temple, knead the silk at the small of his back. “Something like that.”

“Sounds delicious.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Cheers to the birthday girl! 😘


End file.
